Mycroft Holmes is Human
by Carissa the Sita
Summary: Scenes from throughout Mycroft's life; showing that perhaps, the Ice Man really does have a heart. A series of one-shots.
1. Chapter 1

**Mycroft Holmes is Scared**

Mycroft had come home from Uni for the holidays, and there was a gentle air of Christmas festivity in the air, even though Sherlock was moping about something (though he wouldn't say why, of _course_). Mummy was in the kitchen cooking that morning, and Daddy had been reading a book when Mummy realized they were out of nutmeg.

"I'll keep an eye on Sherlock, Mummy, and you and Daddy can have a little date while you get the nutmeg," Mycroft offered, as his Christmas present to them (having decided that getting them tickets to _The Magic Flute_ could backfire... he hated watching opera when he was with his parents).

"Oh, really? How nice of you, Mycroft!" Mummy exclaimed, giving her eldest a kiss on the cheek. Mycroft felt guilty, then, and decided to get them the tickets anyway. A few minutes later, Mummy and Daddy had left.

"Take as long as you like, Mummy," Mycroft said, magnanimously.

"Well, do me a favor and baste the roast again if we're not back in an hour," Mummy replied, as she picked up her purse and grabbed her husband's arm.

"I shall try and remember."

"Goodbye, Sherlock!" Sherlock ignored his mother's farewell, being as it were upside-down on a chair.

Mycroft sat back down on the couch, observing his younger brother. "So, what _is_ the matter this time?" Mycroft pressed.

Sherlock glared at Mycroft. "My microscope broke," he admitted.

"Oh. Well, that explains a good deal."

"Mummy said it was too late to ask for a new one," Sherlock continued. "But I know she didn't start shopping more than thirty days ago, and you probably know that thirty days is usually the minimum for return deadlines."

"Mmm..."

"So I shall probably be stuck with some more stuffy jumpers and forensics textbooks-"

"Sherlock, you _like_ forensic textbooks-"

"and anyway, I was in the middle of an experiment and now I'll have to start all over."

"Ah."

"And last night, I realized that I need a new toothbrush."

"Whatever for?"

Sherlock glared. "I _do_ sometimes take care of myself, you know."

"I didn't," Mycroft said, quite solemnly. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Well, and I'm sick of this and we're having cousins over for the New Year, and Daddy said no more experiments with mouldy bread."

"So basically, you're bored and you need something to do."

"Oh my word, yes; please give me something to think about, my mind is MELTING."

"I come from under the hill and from the sky, and under hills and over the hills and through the skies my paths lead. And through the air, I am he that walks unseen," Mycroft posed. "I fall from above and rise from below, and my absence is death to all."

"Pfft, the answer is water. Something more difficult, perhaps?"

Mycroft sighed deeply. "Fine. A challenge, then. Without looking up a recipe, can you create pancakes in the kitchen that taste like the ones Mummy makes?"

"You just want pancakes."

"Mummy is making pancakes in the morning."

"Hmm..."

"You can't do it, can you?"

"That's it! No one says I can't do something," Sherlock said, somersaulting out of the chair and making for the kitchen. Mycroft rolled his eyes, fighting back a smile. Sometimes Sherlock was too easy.

It was fairly quiet for a time, then Mycroft heard a choked yell from the kitchen. He quickly got up to check on his brother.

"Sherlock! What on earth?" Mycroft exclaimed, seeing the dark blood dripping from Sherlock's hand and pooling on the cutting board. "What in the world were you thinking, blast you?"

"Maybe I was just trying to see how my hands work," Sherlock mumbled, looking sheepish.

Mycroft paled visibly, and his voice was very hoarse when he spoke again. "You... _what_?"

"I was just trying to cut up a peach, Mycroft, yeesh. It's not even very deep," Sherlock said, looking a bit curiously at Mycroft.

"Don't joke around like that!" Mycroft said harshly. "Now go get yourself cleaned up. Really, you're such a stupid boy sometimes."

Sherlock gave Mycroft a dirty look, sulking off to his room while Mycroft cleaned the cutting board.

_Never did I think to hear those words again. Oh, Lord... what if he turns like her?_ Mycroft shuddered at the thought.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: Drugs are bad. Don't do drugs, please. Sherlock Holmes is cool, yes. Drugs make him WEAK. If you want to be weak and have your brains addled, by all means, do drugs. Thank you.

* * *

Mycroft sighed. "Yes, Mummy, I'll call and check in on him."

"Good. I'm worried about him. His grades have been falling, and he doesn't seem himself any more. He hasn't been telling me about any experiments of his, and one of his professors told me that he may have gotten into a bad crowd."

"I'm sure he's just distracted, Mummy. I'm certain it's nothing," Mycroft soothed his mother over the phone. "I'll call him tonight after my meeting with the- well, after a meeting."

"Oh, you and your secrets, Mycroft!" Mummy scolded.

"I'll call you later, Mummy."

"You most certainly will, young man; I don't care if you are in the government now; you will always answer to me."

Mycroft sighed in relief when his mother finally hung up the phone, leaning back on his chair. _Now I just have to get through another meeting about that AGRA operation... why can't today be over yet?_

It was eight o'clock at night when Mycroft finally got a chance to leave work. He called Sherlock, but his brother didn't pick up. _Probably because he never answers calls._ Mycroft texted his brother.

**Call me.**

A few moments later, Mycroft's phone rang. _Miracle of miracles, he called back._

"Hello, Mycroft?" Sherlock's voice sounded strange, and a myriad of coughing and slurred voices merged together in the background.

"Where _bloody_ are you?" Mycroft demanded, his heart leaping into his throat as his mind leapt to a conclusion. _Drug den. No, no, no! It can't be!_

"I'm..." his brother trailed off, sounding distant and confused.

"What have you _done_?"

"I..."

"Sherlock?"

"I don't... I don't... feel so good..."

"SHERLOCK!?" Mycroft shouted into the phone, his heart pounding painfully in his ears as the line went dead. Quickly, Mycroft gathered his wits together. "Have to find him, trace his signal... I'll call in a few favors... get some people on it... why does he have to be such a bloody idiot all the time?" Mycroft sighed deeply, trying to calm his scattered thoughts, push back the worry that encroached him and screamed 'HURRY!' in his ears.

It was three hours later that Mycroft entered the building. Two special agents came in with him, quickly putting some of the other druggies out of commission.

"Where is he?" Mycroft demanded of one man who seemed to be in charge.

"Who?"

"Dark, curly hair, pretty tall, young kid?" Mycroft asked, his patience running thin.

"Upstairs, with the others, if he's here."

Mycroft punched the man in the nose, then headed up the stairs followed by the agents. When he entered the first room on the left, he saw a frightening sight. Sherlock, pale and still, laying on the floor of the small room, needle beside him.

"Sherlock, blast you, talk to me!" Mycroft demanded, shaking his brother's shoulder. "What did you take?"

"Mycroft?" Sherlock stirred, eyes unfocused.

"WHAT DID YOU TAKE!?" Mycroft was nearly screaming now.

"I don't… remember…" Sherlock slurred his words slightly.

Mycroft's hands shook slightly as he tried to contain his emotions. "Sherlock, you have to remember! You could very well die otherwise!"

"You can't… you can't… threaten me… there isn't any East Wind…" the boy's voice faded.

"Sherlock! Sherlock, darn you, listen to me!" Mycroft said, his heart beating harder than he would have ever admitted. "You listen, Sherlock! Stay with me, you understand me? Sherlock? SHERLOCK!" Mycroft turned quickly to the agents. "Get those paramedics up here, now!" he demanded fiercely. The two agents turned, leaving the room as they fulfilled his order.

"Sherlock, don't you dare die on me," Mycroft murmured softly. "I'd never forgive myself for not noticing this sooner. Why didn't you tell me? Wny didn't you come to me? Oh, little brother... little brother..."

* * *

Author's note: Drugs are bad. Don't do drugs, please. Sherlock Holmes is cool, yes. Drugs make him WEAK. If you want to be weak and have your brains addled, by all means, do drugs. Thank you.


	3. Chapter 3

"I am not-" Mycroft broke off in a sneeze. "_Sick_."

John raised his eyes at the 'British government's' protestations, and shrugged.

"I'll write you a prescription for some flu medicine, hmm?" the doctor offered.

"I'm not sick," Mycroft repeated disdainfully, then softened slightly. "But thank you for the offer."

"Well, uh, just let me know when you change your mind," John said as he turned to leave.

"_If_, Doctor, not when!" Mycroft called after him.

"Yeah, I've heard that before from Sherlock," John replied as the door shut behind him.

"I'm _not_ sick." Mycroft reminded himself firmly, then sneezed again. "Someone in the office must have gotten a dog."

Mycroft rubbed his nose, wishing already that he'd accepted John's offer. _Don't be such a baby!_ He scolded himself internally. His phone buzzed.

**Where's John? SH**

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

**He's only just left, Sherlock.**

**I need him now. SH**

**Why?**

**It's for a case. SH**

**Must you really initial EVERY one of your texts?**

**Yes. SH**

**John will be there soon, I'm sure. **

**Not at Baker Street. I'm at the Yard with Gabe. SH**

**Why don't you just text John?**

**I have John's phone. SH**

**Why?**

**It was for an experiment. SH**

**John is not going to be pleased.**

**Actually, this was his experiment, but I'll explain later. Can you send him here in one of your black cars or something? SH**

**Fine. You owe me, Sherlock.**

**I'll take Mummy and Daddy out to dinner when they next come to London. SH**

**Deal!**

Mycroft shook his head, smiling at the phone at his brother's confounded manipulations. "And he gets me almost every time!" Mycroft shook his head, laughing to himself. His phone buzzed again, and he looked at the text.

**Dinner?**

The text was from Mummy.

"Now how did he know?" Mycroft wondered aloud, before sneezing again. 

* * *

Author's note: Sorry, this is just kind of random.


	4. Chapter 4

"Anthea, get me a coffee, please," Mycroft asked, as he surveyed the stack of papers on his desk. "This deal with Sweden is going to be a real pain."

"Mmm-hmm." Her shoes clacked as she walked down the hall.

_I really don't want to do this._ Mycroft sighed deeply, sitting down and reading the top page. "Oh, lovely. It's in Swedish."

"Mr. Holmes? Someone here to see you." It was Anthea with his coffee and this unwelcome message.

"If it doesn't have to do with this Swedish deal, or the issue in Afghanistan, then send them away."

"Well..."

"What?" Mycroft asked, growing more irritated.

"It's your mother, Mr. Holmes."

"Oh... of course it is," Mycroft observed dryly. "Oh, fine. Send her up, then."

"Certainly, Mr. Holmes."

"Mycroft! How good it is to see you again. Why, I haven't seen you since this last Christmas, I don't believe. You really should come out to see us more."

"Mummy, I have a country to run," Mycroft said, blandly, as he motioned for her to sit on the couch. "Tea?"

"Of course you do, dear. No, thank you, I've just had some. Now, let's see. What are you working on tonight?"

"What aren't I?" Mycroft asked, vitriolically. "Specifically, I suppose, a deal with Sweden. I'm supposed to be going through this copy of it, which is going to take me all night. Especially as they couldn't be bothered to translate it themselves, so it's in Swedish."

"Why don't I help you, then, hmm?"

Mycroft raised his eyebrow. "You know Swedish?"

"No, but I know German, and that's fairly close, as I'm certain you know."

"Well, yes, but-"

"Then let's see the deal, hmm?" Mummy stood and headed for Mycroft's desk, picking up the stack of papers, an empty notepad, and a pen. "Now, let me see... _Avtal om att ge Wyatt Strauss Association of Archaeological Advancement tillgång till nationalparker under övervakning av parkers. _Hmm... Wyatt Strauss Association of Archaeological Advancement?"

"It's a long story, I'm afraid."

Mummy laughed. "I'm sure it is! Well, let's get to work. I can't make out a lot of this, but it seems to be that they're agreeing to allow this association to access the national parks with the park wardens overseeing?"

"Something like that, yes," Mycroft said, allowing a small smile to grace his face.

"Well, I wouldn't think they'd waste your time with this."

"Believe me, I wouldn't either. I think the idea may have been to distract me from the problem in Afghanistan... but whatever the case, this is on my desk and therefore, it is getting done now."

"Hopefully I can help you get it done faster, Myc, you look done in."

"Hmm... I am a bit tired, I suppose."

"Come on, then."

"Thank you, Mummy, for helping me."

"Of course, Mycroft!" She exclaimed, kissing his cheek. Mycroft rolled his eyes, but his smile widened slightly.


End file.
